


Two Guys, Some Beer, and a Porno

by nochick_fics



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-22 01:23:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6065491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nochick_fics/pseuds/nochick_fics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Havoc and Breda do some very special male bonding over beer and porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Guys, Some Beer, and a Porno

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to LiveJournal on 8/2/11 for fma_slashfest.

“Hey, Havoc.”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“Do you think her tits are fake?”  
  
Jean glanced across the couch at his drinking partner. Breda’s face was a mask of concentration, so much so that one could have mistakenly thought he was intently listening to an educational lecture of some sort instead of watching a hot chick writhing about on top of some lucky bastard like he was an amusement park ride. Lighting a cigarette, his fifth in the past hour, he turned back to the television and studied the perky projections as he contemplated Breda’s query.  
  
“Nah, they’re real,” he finally concluded, while on-screen, the woman’s caterwauling had ascended into eardrum-breaking levels. “I think her orgasm might be fake though,” he added, smirking around the butt of his smoke.  
  
Breda snorted into his beer. “You’re probably right. But it’s still hot.”  
  
“Yes it is. Hand me another beer.”  
  
Without taking his eyes off the action, Breda rooted around in the cooler by his feet and fished out another cold one for Jean before helping himself. They continued watching the movie in relative silence, with only the occasional belch and periodic commentary on a particular position between them...  
  
  
_Fourteen beers and ten cigarettes later:_  
  
Jean wavered in his seat, having graduated with honors from a respectable buzz to flat-out drunk. Breda was no better, gripping the arm of the couch as if in fear of falling off of it. Meanwhile, a rather buxom redhead (hers were also real, they decided) was demonstrating some rather... inspiring... oral prowess on a man dressed as a police officer.  
  
“It’s not fair,” Jean exclaimed out of the blue. It sounded more like ‘znot fur’ on account of his slurring.  
  
Breda blinked at him for a moment, trying to get him to come into focus. “Huh? What’s not fur?”  
  
Jean motioned to the TV, spilling beer and ash on his thigh in doing so. “That. Why can’t that be me?”  
  
Breda looked at the television. Then at Jean. Then at the television. Finally, he figured it out. Or so he thought:  
  
“You want to do porn?”  
  
“No, no, no. I want to get _laid_. Do you know how long it’s been since I had sex?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Yeah well... I don’t either. But I know it’s been awhile.” Jean raised the beer to his lips, realized there was a cigarette there, and debated which one he wanted more. Ultimately, he compromised by taking a swig from the corner of his mouth where the cigarette wasn’t tucked firmly. “I mean, hell, I think I’m a halfway decent looking guy. I may not be _Mustang_ hot--”  
  
“No one is Mustang hot,” Breda pointed out solemnly.  
  
“--but damn it, I’m a catch!” Jean punctuated his statement with a hiccup.  
  
“Yes you are. Why, if you were a girl and if I was a girl I’d fuck you,” Breda muttered stupidly. He reached out to give his friend a supportive pat on the shoulder, missed, and fell face-first into the sofa cushion between them.  
  
“Wait...” Jean ran his fingers through a nest of unruly hair. “If _you_ were a girl or if _I_ were a girl?”  
  
The big man sat upright. “Yeah.”  
  
“Yeah, what? Which one of us is a girl?”  
  
Entirely too inebriated for rational thought by this point, Breda could only shrug. “I don’t know, man,” he conceded. “Either way, I’d fuck you.”  
  
“... You’d fuck me?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
In his highly altered state of mind, Jean was absurdly touched. “Thanks, Breda. You’re a real friend...”  
  
  
_Eleven beers, six cigarettes, and a hole burned into the couch later:_  
  
Jean opened his eyes and found the ceiling staring back at him. He lifted his head with a grunt, ignoring the crick in his neck, and spotted Breda, who had apparently neglected to hold onto the arm of the couch hard enough, dozing on the floor. Jean considered waking him, but the exertion required to move his foot far enough to nudge him proved too great. That, and the porno had reached its final scene, which featured an orgy of epic proportions; Jean had never in all his years of smut viewing seen so many tits and asses in one place. It was proving to be quite the distraction, all that groping and grinding and sucking and fucking...  
  
“Oh shit.”  
  
He cringed and shifted uncomfortably, all too aware of the situation brewing between his legs. The damn thing had a mind of its own down there, and it didn’t care in the least whether or not there was company in the house. At least it’d had the decency to wait until Breda passed out before making its presence known. Not that Jean could do anything about it now.  
  
… or could he?  
  
Had he not been liquored up, he would have immediately realized why jerking off with Breda _right there_ was a bad idea. But in the logic of his beer-soused mind, Jean saw no problem at all with unzipping his pants, pushing them down, pulling out his cock, and stroking himself into a frenzy. And so he did, moaning softly as he thrust into the tight curl of his fist. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol, the movie, or the fact that there was someone else in the room with him, but whatever the reason, the thrill of the deed excited him in a way that his usual solo adventures never had before, and he closed his eyes and surrendered himself to it.  
  
He began moving faster--while he normally liked to take his time, he was at least aware enough to know that he should probably hurry things along--and he let his imagination, as distorted as it was, take over where the movie left off, picturing himself fucking... well... anyone, really. He was entirely too turned on to bother with mental specifics; all he wanted right now, more than anything, was to stick his cock in something (rather, some _one_ ) warm and wet.  
  
And he soon got his wish when he felt a pair of lips wrap firmly around him.  
  
“What the--?”  
  
Jean’s eyes flew open. He looked down and tried to wrap his mind around what he was seeing, because surely that wasn’t Breda kneeling between his parted legs with Jean’s cock in his mouth and doing something... absolutely  _amazing_ with his tongue. Except that it was.  
  
“Ohhh _fuck!_ ”  
  
He unhanded himself and bucked upward, driving into the heat of Breda’s mouth. Perhaps if sobriety had been a factor, the utter bizarreness of the situation might have given him pause, but at that particular moment, getting a blow job by his friend and comrade--and a goddamn fantastic blow job, at that--seemed perfectly normal. He brought his shaking hands to rest atop Breda’s head and watched, mesmerized, as his cock slid in and out of the man’s mouth. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Breda fumbling around with his own pants. While the thought of a guy having himself off usually did nothing for Jean, it only served to fuel his excitement in this unexpected situation, until--  
  
“... gonna...”  
  
It was all he could manage to say before he let out a hoarse cry and came hard, so hard that he wouldn’t have been surprised at all if he had broken something while doing so. He lurched forward, cradling Breda’s head, trembling as the other man moaned and swallowed around him, and startlingly aware of the fact that he had just let another man suck him off. And _loved_ it.  
  
He collapsed back against the couch as Breda reached his own muffled completion. All over the bottom of Jean’s couch no less, or so he assumed, not that it mattered since Jean had already burned a hole in the damn thing.  
  
Breda backed away from him and rested his head on Jean’s knee, and even in the depths of his drunkenness and impending embarrassment, Jean found the move somewhat... comforting. Nice, even. Sure, he missed sex--a _lot_ \--but apparently he missed plain old human contact of any kind as well.  
  
He closed his eyes and tried not to think about what was to come. It would be easy enough to blame all of this on the beer, although he had the sneaking suspicion that he wasn’t the only one who had, at some point during all of that, become reacquainted with a semblance of coherent thought. But for now, he just wanted to sit back and enjoy the afterglow. They could deal with the rest of it in another minute or two...  
  
  
_The next morning:_  
  
Jean opened his eyes and found the ceiling once again staring back at him. He was immediately aware of two things--streaks of daylight filtering in through the curtains, meaning that he had apparently slept through the night, and, more unsettling, a distinct feeling of... coolness... somewhere there ought not have been.  
  
He raised his head, scowling not only at the pain in his neck but the unholy taste in his mouth, and froze when he saw the reason for the breeze. His pants were down, his cock was out, and...  
  
And...  
  
“Breda?” he croaked, looking at the man who had fallen asleep with his head on Jean’s knee.  
  
Breda mumbled something unintelligible (and possibly profane) and pried open his eyes. Naturally, the first thing he saw was--  
  
“What the hell?” He sat up, his eyes wide. “Why is your... why am I...?”  
  
The two men stared at each other for a moment.  
  
Then they remembered.  
  
“... oh.” Breda clumsily pulled himself up and plopped down onto the couch, giving Jean a chance to zip himself up. “Um...”  
  
“Yeah,” Jean added. He reached for a cigarette and lit one, thankful for the diversion, temporary as it was...  
  
  
_Two cigarettes and five really awkward minutes later:_  
  
This was ridiculous. Jean had been drunk enough times to know that odd, unexplainable things occasionally happened when one was under the influence. And what was more odd and unexplainable than impromptu fellatio between pals?  
  
Clearly, the best course of action was to reestablish their rampant, macho, chick-loving heterosexuality.  
  
“So...what are you doing tonight?”  
  
Or maybe not.  
  
Breda shook his head slowly. “Nothing,” he said. “Why?”  
  
“I just thought... you might like to come over again,” Jean replied, craftily avoiding Breda’s gaze. “If you want.”  
  
Breda thought about the offer. After awhile, he shrugged and nodded. “Sure.”  
  
Jean stubbed out his cigarette on the ashtray sitting between them, and just where the hell did that hole in the cushion come from? Oh yeah...  
  
“I’m not gay,” Breda added quickly.  
  
“Neither am I,” Jean countered just as fast.  
  
And with that settled, the two men relaxed, secure in their respective (and supposed) non-gayness.  
  
Even so, Jean thought that maybe, just _maybe_ , it wouldn’t be a bad idea to swing by the store later on in the day to buy some lube, wholly unaware of the fact that Breda planned to return that night armed with condoms.  
  
You know, just in case.


End file.
